


Betty the Black and Remmy the Apostate

by Armasyll



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armasyll/pseuds/Armasyll





	Betty the Black and Remmy the Apostate

Betty the Black has a ram companion that knows the lands well, and is quick with healing salves and brewing tea.  
One day, while they're apart making their daily coin, her companion was attacked. Her ram finds her as she's cutting wood for a small parish.  
With blood streaming down his brow, he begs her to protect him, that there's another ram after him, that they had taken his horns.  
With her sword always in reach, takes it in paw, and gives it to her companion, ordering him to hide in the framework of the parish, to stab anything that comes near him that isn't her.  
She warns the other builders to stay away, and so begins her hunt.

* * *

The ram who stole her companion's horns was beheaded, and their horns were crushed.  
Her companion told her to keep his horns, as he no longer could use them, and it was she who protected him and saved them when he could not.

* * *

After a long day of swinging her sword at creatures twice her height, and cleaving in two those few stupid enough to charge at her, Betty the Black was tired.  
Tired, and absolutely drenched in sweat, blood, and some bastard threw a fucking keg of mead at her on the battlefield. _Who on God's green earth wasted mead,_ she had asked, at the time, a bear. The bear didn't have time to answer, as her sword went straight through its neck.  
But she digresses; she was unclean.  
And her muscles were sore.  
Which made it a difficult situation, cleaning oneself.  
When one didn't have a companion.  
Luckily for her, Remmy the Faithful was with her when she found a slow-moving river. Laying her sword by the river bank, she made slow work of stripping her armour; With the number of straps hidden beneath plate, as well as interlocking studs, the armour was for all practical reasons, to her, fused onto her pelt.  
That, and she could feel her fur sticking to the metal.  
Remmy had stripped down to his bare, trimmed fluff, the scrawny stud, and was quickly slipping his hooves between a the plates at her waist, and slipping her stomach plast from the complex plates of her hips. From there, he moved around her, pulling straps loose and shifting her armour every which way until it all almost slid off.  
That part about her fur sticking to it? Yeah.  
She fell to all fours, and walked over to the river, with her sheep walking on two legs beside her. After rolling around in the water for a few minutes, she layed down along the shore to dry off in the sun.  
Soft, gentle hooves worked their way along her shoulders in ways she never bothered to understand, and the stress of her muscles dropped considerably. She _didn't_ let out a low groan. _Nope._  
When his hooves worked out a few uncomfrortable spots along her shoulders, her tail _definately didn't_ start wagging. And it definately didn't move to the side when she felt something hard press against her rear.

* * *

Betty didn't ask for things, she demanded them. So when she _didn't_ whimper, _or_ practically beg, for her trimmed sheep boy to fuck her until she couldn't walk straight, she got it.  
Remmy was strong for a ram of his stature, being able to pick her up by the waist and let her legs fall into place to hold her up. She knew of no other ram that had his stamina, as he gripped her by the tail and some fur on the small of her back, and rutted her like a bitch in heat.  
_Which she fucking wasn't. And she didn't fucking howl, shut up._  
Sure, she'd been knotted by the occasional timber wolves, and even got a tundra wolf to take her for a ride, but none of those brief flames compared to the attentiveness of her ram.  
He knew every corner of her body, every spot to grind into to make her moan and gasp. _Which she swears to god she'll skin you if you say she was._ And he could go at her for a good hour until there was a messy pullout, and she had to go and wash up _again_. Then came the tongue that once preached the good lord's word.  
God above, that was a tongue worth more than its weight in gold. It just kept twisting, and prodding, and lapping.  
When she was on her back, squeezing his head between her thighs as she screamed, when she could briefly form coherent thought, she thanked whatever devil convinced her to turn that sheep from the priesthood.  
She didn't black out often, only when she had a bit too much to drink, or that one time a buffalo threw a cart at her, or most of the time when her sheep didn't get the message and sucked her clit while she was still riding out an orgasm. But when she did, she always woke up with her little ram in her arms. That made her smile.  
She always appreicated that no mammal that could swing a mace like him, fuck like him, and _eat_ like him. No mammal with his skills should waste their time being a priest of God, she had told him when she dragged him from his robes, the first time she took a shining to him.  
But now, as they lay together on some river bank, he just buried his face in her chest, and hugger her.  
Betty the Black and Remmy the Apostate, she had to admit it sounded poetic.


End file.
